I’m on vacation, so I won’t be able to blog this week. Instead of leaving my blog empty, I’ve decided to share a fun journal entry I wrote during my vegan transition. It’s too long for a blog post, so I’ve broken it into short pieces.
Hippie Hot Springs – Part 4
I was really anxious to go now, but Michelle was still chatting. I yelled to her, “Michelle, let’s go.”
She looked my way and casually waved while continuing to talk, so I walked over to her and politely said, “I’d like to get on the road.”
“Take a chill pill sis, I’m almost ready.”
As I anxiously waited for my sister to end her conversation, a middle aged man who looked like he’d never had a job in his life peaked out of the hippie bus and invited Michelle and me to come in.
“Thanks,” I said. “But we really need to get going.”
“Relax, Celeste, let’s hang out on the bus for a few minutes.”
I did not want to go onto the hippie bus. In addition to being more than anxious to get on the road, I didn’t trust the hippies. What if we get us on the bus and they rape us? Or they might kidnap us and keep us drugged up and we won’t be able to escape for years. Or what if they want to kill us as a ritual sacrifice for some cult they belong to.
“Michelle,” I said with force. “I’m ready to go.”
My sister ignored me and stepped onto the bus. Worried that she’d get kidnapped alone, I followed. The inside of the bus was just what you’d expect from the outside, it was full of psychedelic tie dyed fabrics, beaded curtains, and it smelled of incense and marijuana. Russell, the man who’d invited us onto the bus, offered us a joint, to which I declined, but my sister accepted. After we had been on the bus for awhile, a young grungy-looking guy stepped onto the bus and asked if Michelle and I could give him a ride into town.
“I wish we could,” I said. “But the back seat of our car is full of stuff.”
Then, to my horror, my sister said, “of course we can give you a ride. Just give us a few minutes to rearrange the car.”
I wanted kill her! We had the perfect excuse not to give this guy, who might be a mass murderer, for all we know, a ride and she tells him we can give him a ride anyway. In an insistent tone, I said, “We don’t have room for a passenger, Michelle.”
“Of course we do,” she said graciously as she stepped out of the hippie bus.
I followed my sister back to my car and watched as she rearranged the stuff in the back seat so that there was enough space for someone to squeeze in. The young guy, who described himself as a professional bum, got into my car. I was frustrated, angry, and terrified! I was sure that at any moment our young passenger would brandish a knife and rob us, or worse. We got into town, dropped the professional bum off, and then my sister said, “You looked scared as hell while that guy was in the car – you were stiff as a board. You’ve got to learn to relax!”
That’s the end of part 4, but come back tomorrow to see how I deal with my sis.
Photo courtesy of Cruise Art.